Chapter 672: Two Empires

The carriage rolled steadily along the smooth central avenue of the city. The gentle sway of the cabin lulled passengers toward sleep. Daniel sat on the cushioned bench at the rear, leaning against his personalized pillow and cushions, eyes half-closed, as if already dozing.

Yet his mind was sharper than ever. Through the artificial neural links and the special runic array inscribed beneath the carriage floor, the Sleeper priest’s consciousness had already detached from his body, wandering freely within the perfect world crafted by the mental network.

A city of dreams, golden boulevards, bustling crowds.

Beautiful nameless trees lined the streets, their softly glowing leaves drifting down in mesmerizing patterns. A crisp breeze stirred the tightly packed palace halls and towers, fluttering banners and decorative drapes between the buildings.

Now embodied as a refined middle-aged mage, Daniel strolled along the broad avenue until he reached a bustling plaza.

Small groups of worshippers moved about, their low conversations drifting to Daniel’s ears:

“The Plan of the End of All Things seems to have utterly failed…”

“Barbaric and ugly. The monsters they created gave a bad impression from the start.”

“But it’s hard to believe they failed so quickly… Are the Cecilian people really that tough to deal with?”

“After all, there are the Outer Wanderers over there.”

“How long has it been since the Stormborn sent any news? Ever since the last alignment of the stars, their contact with the mainland has dwindled.”

“Who knows what those fools with their heads in the clouds are up to…”

Daniel listened as a detached observer, unmoved by their chatter.

In some ways, the Sleeper cultists connected to the mental network were better informed than any king or emperor. Yet when it came to news about Cecile, their intelligence lagged far behind. Especially after the Cecilians erected those magical detection devices and imposed strict controls on supernaturals throughout their territory, many Sleepers had to keep their distance. Information about Cecile now came only through rumors from other regions, and much of what these mid-level cultists discussed was already old news from days ago.

Compared to them, Daniel held the freshest intelligence.

The monarchy had fallen, an empire had risen, magical armies swept the plains, iron fortresses raced along the rails, and the artificial gods were swallowed and destroyed by the Deep Sea Alliance…

What an exhilarating war it had been. Unfortunately, stationed in Typhon, Daniel had no chance to witness it firsthand, only able to watch fragments of the records through the “Origin Space.”

Footsteps approached nearby. A Sleeper in a white coat, exuding a noble and commanding presence, came to Daniel’s side, breaking his reverie.

“Thank you for your warning last time, Bishop,” the Sleeper bowed respectfully. “Duke Severn has provided us with crucial assistance.”

Daniel glanced sideways at the man. Thanks to his special clearance as head of security, he could see past the noble facade to the man’s true self: a pale, thin middle-aged man with deep brown eyes and somewhat flat features.

Daniel nodded slightly. “Great nobles tend to have long-term vision. They prefer to maintain balance through diversified investments. Given the potential profits, Duke Severn would naturally want to secure a stake in the southern plantations. Moreover, that stake brings him allies along the railway—after all, the emperor has already forbidden marquises and above from meddling in the railroads. The great nobles will surely find suitable proxies to spend their money.”

“Regardless, your tip gave me an opportunity. It’s a pity I can’t thank you properly in the real world.”

“Everything is for our true cause, Viscount Weigel,” Daniel said softly, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear, subtly reminding the man to distinguish between his real-world identity and his role within the cult. “While accumulating wealth, never forget why we gather it.”

Viscount Weigel immediately bowed his head. “Your reminder is well taken, Bishop. Everything is for our true cause.”

The Sleeper cult was vast. Like any dark sect, it sought to cultivate members across nearly every social stratum to meet its many operational needs.

Among its lower and middle ranks were many converted nobles, merchants, and cult priests of alien gods. Though barred from the cult’s deepest secrets, these individuals were indispensable: some provided funds, others intelligence, and some helped expand the cult’s influence and recruit new members.

A minor southern noble like Viscount Weigel was a vital asset for the cult’s growth within Typhon. And for Daniel, as a bishop, controlling such “pieces” behind the scenes was effortless and drew no suspicion.

“I must warn you,” Daniel said casually, noticing the subordinate’s bowed head, “don’t underestimate the sharp noses of the northern nobles. You’ve met with Duke Severn several times—someone will guess what you’re up to.”

Viscount Weigel’s eyes widened. “You mean… the northern nobles are also meddling with the railways?”

“That’s uncertain. But you’d better warn the southern nobles,” Daniel said flatly. “I doubt you want to suffer another loss.”

Daniel had many tasks in Typhon, but he couldn’t do them all personally. At least, not openly.

Viscount Weigel, a low-ranking Sleeper priest under Daniel’s command, nodded eagerly and quickly took his leave, disappearing into the plaza.

Daniel watched him return to the real world, then turned toward the nearest node crystal.

Some things he did himself. Others were carried out by his apprentices or the nobles he influenced. Some were done in his capacity as Bishop Daniel of the Sleeper cult. And some by the cultists under his command.

No one would suspect any connection behind these actions that spanned the empire from north to south, touching commoners, merchants, and nobles alike. Countless unrelated threads, countless people who neither knew nor cared about each other, all working simultaneously.

To the outside world, Daniel was merely a brilliant scholar and archmage loyal to the empire. Even a deep investigation would only reveal a few private friendships with some nobles in the capital—relationships that were perfectly natural, given those nobles were among Daniel’s earliest investors after his return.

The node crystal floated atop a lavish pale-gold pedestal, emitting a dreamy, shimmering light. Daniel placed his hand gently on it. As familiar mental waves pulsed through him, the scene around him shifted from the open plaza to a magnificent palace.

This was the central temple, accessible only to bishop-level priests. Here gathered the true core of the Sleeper cult.

Figures materialized: bishops clad in white, black, or pale gold robes appeared along the corridors, moving toward the central council chamber. Daniel joined their ranks, walking in step toward the same destination.

The civil war in Ansu had ended, one of the three great dark cults was no more, and a vast ancient kingdom was being reshuffled. New power dynamics, new challenges and opportunities. As one of the dark cults, the Sleeper cult would certainly act—especially now, with Ansu’s new ruler being the terrifying “Outer Wanderer.” The cult’s leadership needed to carefully discuss their next moves.

Inside the circular council chamber, Daniel found his seat. He sat down and quietly exchanged words with familiar bishops nearby until a glow appeared at the far end of the oval table. A gentle-faced woman with a serene presence emerged into view.

The bishops greeted her in unison: “Good day, Lady Selinagalfen.”

“Good day, brethren,” Selinagalfen said softly, scanning the room and nodding slightly. “Let us begin the meeting…”

…

As the mist began to rise, standing in the highest chamber of the Obsidian Palace overlooking the imperial capital was a unique experience.

People often called the “Fog Moon” the time when Aldern’s fog was thickest and longest-lasting. But in truth, fog visited Aldern unexpectedly during every seasonal change, no matter the month.

On such days, the entire city seemed to float in a hazy dream. Buildings of varying heights lost their solid forms in the mist, becoming vague and ethereal. Only the spires and towers pierced through the fog, bathed in brilliant sunlight, gilded with a golden glow—like islands emerging from the sea. The sun shone equally on all, yet only those islands could claim such honor.

Peregrin Wendell and Rosetta Augustus stood side by side at the window, gazing down at the prosperous and wealthy imperial capital. The sunlight grew stronger, and as the fog drifted, the towers and spires of the Obsidian Palace gleamed brilliantly.

The city had tens of thousands of rooftops, but when the fog came, only these high towers were visible from the palace.

“Your Majesty, news from Andesha: the Longwind Fortress is reinforcing its garrison, but it’s unclear which unit is taking over defense duties.”

“Gawain Cecile is cautious and has never let his guard down against Typhon,” Rosetta nodded slightly. “He will prepare for our attack immediately. That’s to be expected.”

“The empire’s main forces are ready, Your Majesty,” Peregrin bowed his head. “The First and Second Mage Regiments and the Winter Wolf Cavalry have assembled at the border, awaiting your command.”

“For a while, I almost thought you had become an anti-war advocate, Duke Peregrin,” Rosetta turned to him with a faint smile. “The pro-war nobles think you’re wavering.”

Peregrin’s expression was serious. “I have never taken sides, Your Majesty. I stand with the empire’s interests. When the costs outweigh the benefits, I oppose war. When the empire can profit and the price is acceptable, I support it. But Ansu’s recent changes make it hard to gauge their true strength… We must remain cautious.”

“We will be cautious. But before that, Andesha must be prepared,” Rosetta withdrew her gaze from the window and looked at the grand duke beside her. “Whether the troops occupying Longwind Fortress are elite soldiers or the worn remnants of civil war, she must judge with her own eyes.”

Peregrin’s face was solemn. “She will not disappoint you, Your Majesty.”

…

Northern continent, Saint Suniel City.

The ancient streets had been thoroughly cleaned, colorful flags and banners fluttering along both sides of the road. Stalwart knights and soldiers patrolled the streets surrounding the castle district. A solemn yet festive atmosphere hung over the city—so palpable that even the dullest onlooker could sense that something momentous was about to unfold within this old town.

The day of the emperor’s coronation was drawing near.

Just past midnight yesterday, a cargo ship, heavily guarded by warships, docked at the southern port of Saint Suniel. The military had cleared the area in advance and sealed off the roads between the port and the castle district. From a distance, witnesses saw a large transport vehicle carry some cargo into the castle, covered with thick tarps, sparking widespread speculation among the townsfolk.

Inside Silverkeep, Gawain sat behind his desk, a stack of manuscripts spread before him as he wrote furiously.

Amber stood nearby, glancing at him with curiosity. “You’ve been writing these past few days whenever you have a moment… What exactly are you working on?”

Gawain didn’t look up. “You can take a look if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Better not. I’ve been tricked more than once before. If I peek, you’ll probably just pile a bunch of new tasks on me…”

Gawain smiled but said nothing, turning the page and continuing to write.

But Amber clearly couldn’t stay quiet. After barely a few seconds, she spoke again. “Hey, I’m telling you, your coronation is coming soon, and you’re bent over writing like this right before something big happens—it’s like you’re drafting a will…”

Gawain’s pen finally paused. He looked up at Amber and, with the tip of his pen, pointed toward the nearby wall. “Do you think this wall is perfectly flat?”

Amber vanished in a flash, leaving only a startled shout behind: “I’m going on patrol!!”

Gawain chuckled softly at the spot where she had disappeared, then bent his head back down to the nearly finished manuscript. A few seconds later, he gently rubbed the mithril ring on his finger.

The ring emitted a faint warmth, and Melitapernia’s voice echoed softly from within: “The Mithril Vault is at your service—do you require assistance?”

“Yes. I need to store something safely.”

(End of chapter)